I drove a Lincoln into the park
So I could bleed it out
Filling six chambers, this isn't roulette
Every shot is firing, I don't need the doubt.
You wouldn't like to see my perspective
Manipulating minds without even incepting
Repeating just for repetition,
Check the mission log, we were made to burn out.
Etching average into our blood since day one
Fighting for the chance to pick a different route.

This isn't social poetry, we don't socialize.
To see in my head, I need to perform a procedure
Then jeepers creepers, have new peepers.
Stopped following a preacher in every church
Each one had sins that outweighed my worth
Only to hold onto few, it's true, but for those I do
It's womb to tomb and birth to earth.
Who would take a shot for your being?
A nearly empty room fills the head
Of everyone who thought they had everyone
Still disillusioned, Courtney, get my gun!

Dead house felt like the realest thing I wrote
Only to still feel like I'm blowing smoke.
I judge myself harder than any critic
So if you want a pound of my flesh,
You're welcome to come and get it.